


let's forget the past (i swear we'll make this last)

by bellawritess



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know if this counts as a song fic cos it's kinda meta but, Kids Making Mistakes, Light Angst, Luke Hemmings & Calum Hood Friendship, M/M, Protective Siblings, References to Sex, Songfic, Songwriting, bandfic, flashback fic I guess?, it is a songfic in the sense that the plot of the song is the plot of the fic, kind of, one of those fics that switches between now and then, whatever dont think too hard about it alright, you would literally not believe the number of times I listened to iydk while writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: Luke doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring atgo ahead, rip my heart out, if you think that’s what love’s all about.It’s cheesy and pleading and terrible, but he can’t bring himself to discount it as a line, not like the rest. There’s something painfully on the nose about it. Apart from thelovebit.This isn’t love. It wasn’t, can’t have been.
Relationships: Jack Hemmings & Luke Hemmings, Luke Hemmings & Calum Hood, Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Comments: 21
Kudos: 62





	let's forget the past (i swear we'll make this last)

**Author's Note:**

> actually I did the math and within a margin of error I listened to if you don't know SEVENTY NINE times while writing this fic. shoutout to iydk for uhh ripping my heart out I guess <3  
>   
> anyway yeah so shoutout to love of my fucking life [helen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin) for. well just in general !! also though fr she read this. when it was like. half the length. and liked it. which is madness cos she's HELEN. anyway so yeah i finished it and then now it exists and you can read it !! that's pretty neat i dont know why im talking like a child here let's move on. second shoutout goes to [sam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellingatbabylon/pseuds/yellingatbabylon) for reading this and being ridiculously nice about it and also giving me feedback (when people give me feedback...........literally no better feeling i cant lie) anyhow sam is responsible for a fraction of this fic being WRITTEN AT ALL so you can thank her if you like it and if you don't like it then you can blame her :))) JOKING sam if ur reading this is love u id never throw you under the bus like that  
>   
> surprising absolutely no one, i hope, title is from if you don't know, by, wait for it, 5 seconds of summer

“What are you writing?” Michael asks.

Calum glances up; Luke does too, and immediately covers the paper with his hand. “Nothing,” Luke says.

“Lyrics,” Calum says, ignoring Luke. 

“Cool,” Michael says. “Need help?”

Luke shakes his head. Michael frowns, but Calum just says, “We’re okay here. Honestly.”

Michael shrugs, and turns to leave, although not without another suspicious look at the paper hidden from his view, as if it’s talking shit about him. 

Which it’s not. To be clear.

“You know, if it’s going to be a band song, you’ll have to share it eventually,” Calum says when Michael’s gone. Luke draws his knees to his chest, revealing the half-finished song on the page to the world.

“I know,” he mumbles. “Just not yet.”

Calum pats Luke on the back, gentle and reassuring. Not everybody has a Calum, and Luke sometimes thinks even _he_ doesn’t have Calum, but moments like now he’s reminded that he does, and he’s lucky for it. Calum means more to Luke than almost anyone, because Calum’s the reason they have a band now. Calum’s the reason Luke has a reason to live, so to speak. 

Of course, that also means Calum’s responsible for meeting Ashton, but Luke feels comfortable pinning that blame on Michael, which is easier at any rate because he’s used to hating Michael.

“Cal!” Speak of the devil and he shall (re)appear. Michael shows up once more in the doorway. “Your dad’s here.”

“Oh,” Calum says. “Be out in a sec.”

Michael disappears once more from the doorway. His footsteps pound out an unsteady rhythm on the hardwood floors of the hall.

“Are you gonna be, like, okay?” Calum asks. Luke frowns. He doesn’t want Calum thinking he’s not okay. (He’s not, really, but he doesn’t want Calum thinking it.)

“I’m okay,” he says, trying to sound like it’s obvious. “Bye, see you tomorrow.”

There’s something a little too sympathetic in Calum’s smile and parting, “Okay, see you,” and Luke glares at his back as he goes. He keeps his knees close to his chest. It makes him feel like his heart isn’t quite so vulnerable.

There’s a shuffling of footsteps out in the hall, and then a tap-tap-tap on the doorframe of Luke’s room. The tapping is pointless, Luke thinks, because Ashton’s standing in the doorway anyway, with a smile that’s soft and sweet and utterly disarming. 

The knees trick isn’t working. Luke’s heart still hurts. With every second Ashton stands there, it hurts more.

“Hey,” Ashton says. “What’s up?”

“Writing,” Luke says.

Ashton hums an acknowledgement. “Need help?”

“No.”

“Luke, come on.” Ashton looks at him, with an expression bordering on disappointment but edged with a plea. If _Luke, come on_ could be a facial expression, Ashton would be nailing it.

“When are you leaving?” Luke asks instead.

Ashton sighs. “Mum texted saying she’ll be late. I don’t know why. Sorry. I know…”

There are any number of ways he could end that sentence, and even though he doesn’t, Luke is pretty sure he gets the message. _I know you don’t want me here. I know you don’t want to be alone with me. I know I hurt you._

“It’s fine,” he says, which is probably a lie, but as long as Ashton stays out of Luke’s room and Luke stays in it, they can be safely separated by this wall. Luke won’t have to think about how badly he wants to trap Ashton in his room with him and — and do and say so many things he can’t do or say.

“Okay,” Ashton says, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Well, uh, I’ll just — yeah.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, stilted and uncomfortable. Luke takes a certain amount of vindictive pleasure from how uneasy Ashton looks as he leaves Luke’s room.

The lyrics on the page are mostly bad. They’re incomprehensible. Calum had been pretty forgiving with them, but that was mostly because when Calum had offered to help Luke write, Luke couldn’t, in good faith, refuse, given how much he enjoys Calum’s company and general support. 

But truth be told, the story Luke’s trying to tell can’t really be written by Calum, or anyone. And it’s not even really a story. If these lyrics became a song, it would just be nonsensical whining, punctuated by desperate guitar solos. 

Luke doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at _go ahead, rip my heart out, if you think that’s what love’s all about._ It’s cheesy and pleading and terrible, but he can’t bring himself to discount it as a line, not like the rest. There’s something painfully on the nose about it. Apart from the _love_ bit.

This isn’t love. It wasn’t, can’t have been.

* * *

Actually, Luke kisses Ashton first, although if you asked him now he’s not sure he’d believe it.

In his defense, Ashton’s been watching Luke all day, in everything — writing, practicing, playing, singing. When Luke catches him, Ashton looks away, cheeks blossoming patchy pink. Also, once Calum and Michael have left, it’s just him and Ashton, sitting next to each other on the couch. But Luke had been sitting first, and then Ashton had sat directly next to him, touching ankles and thighs and shoulders, even though the entire rest of the couch is empty. Luke’s got butterflies in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in forever, and he tries to keep his attention on the game of snake he’s playing on his phone, but it’s hard with Ashton right there, body heat making his presence impossible to ignore.

“I’m really glad Michael invited me to join the band,” Ashton says out of nowhere.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“We sound really cool,” Ashton admits. “And I got to meet you.”

Luke swallows thickly. “Me and Calum?”

“Him too,” Ashton says hesitantly. “But I just kind of meant you, specifically.”

Luke dies in his game of snake, and now he has no reason to be avoiding Ashton’s eyes, although he still does for a moment. “Why?”

Ashton breathes out. “Uh,” he says, and then, “Just, I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Luke says accusingly. He turns his gaze onto Ashton, and — surprise, surprise — Ashton’s watching him. “Tell me.”

“Never mind,” Ashton says. His face is red, and he pulls his eyes away from Luke’s.

“You keep watching me,” Luke says. He doesn’t mean to say it like it’s a bad thing, but it sounds that way anyway. “Why?”

“I don’t keep watching you.”

“Yes you do.”

“I just — I don’t play guitar very well, and you do, so —”

“Michael’s better than me.”

“I don’t think he is.”

“Well, he is. And you’re watching me when I’m not playing, too.” The heartbeat in Luke’s chest is more of a stutter. 

“I’m not watching you,” Ashton insists, still inspecting his hands in his lap like they contain the secrets of the universe.

Luke acts before he thinks, which isn’t something he makes a habit of doing, but he’s pretty sure it’s the right thing to do, or he would be, if he were thinking about it, which he isn’t.

He reaches up, palm cupping Ashton’s cheek, and leans in to kiss him.

Ashton’s stiff for just a second, just long enough for Luke to regret everything ever. Then, like a light switch flicked on, he reacts, opening his mouth to kiss back. Luke is so startled by the response that he almost breaks it to stare in shock at Ashton, but Ashton’s hand wrapped around the back of Luke’s neck quickly makes that impossible. And then they’re kissing on Luke’s couch, slowly open-mouthed and gentle, while Luke’s heart jackrabbits around his ribcage. He’s pretty sure this is the kind of thing that only happens in movies, and yet here they are.

Ashton’s the one who breaks it, and for a second after he does, they sit like that, a half-breath away from kissing again, Ashton’s hand on Luke’s neck and Luke’s on Ashton’s face. Then Ashton pulls back, and his face twists once, twice, like it’s trying to process several different expressions at once. None of them are pleasant. Luke glimpses a look of horror before it’s schooled into something a little milder, and his heart sinks.

“I can’t — you can’t,” Ashton breathes. “You’re sixteen.”

“Yeah, and?” _Consenting age,_ Luke wants to say.

“I’m — no, sorry,” Ashton says. Frantically, he pulls a hand through his hair, messing it up enough that Luke wants to reach over and fix it. If Luke’s life weren't possibly ending right now, he would.

“What do you mean, no?” Luke says quietly. “Do you like me?”

“Of course I do,” Ashton says, in a tragically desperate tone of voice.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” Ashton says, staring at Luke. “I just don’t — I don’t want to be, like, your first…”

Luke’s not sure how Ashton’s intending to end that sentence, but he trails off, and it leaves Luke thinking about what _your first_ usually means. “Why not?” he challenges.

“Because I’ll fuck it up,” Ashton says. “I’m dumb, and I make a lot of mistakes. You’re too — your heart’s good, Luke. I don’t want to hurt it.”

“You’re hurting it right now,” Luke tells him.

Ashton buries his face in his hands. “I know. I know.”

“Stop planning on hurting me,” Luke says reasonably, “and we won’t have an issue. Ashton. You said you like me. I like you too.”

“I’m not planning on hurting you.”

“Good. I’m not planning on letting you.”

Ashton huffs a laugh into his hands, and then picks his head up and looks at Luke, a little less wild-eyed. “You can’t just decide I won’t hurt you.”

“Maybe not, but you can,” Luke says. _I don’t care if you hurt me,_ is what he thinks, _but I don’t believe you’re capable of it._

Which is his first mistake. Anyone holding Luke’s heart in their hands is bound to drop it and let it shatter against the floor.

“You could decide not to like me,” Ashton murmurs. His eyes flicker back and forth over Luke’s face, and Luke feels a pull, and hopes that Ashton will bridge the gap this time so he doesn’t have to again.

“Could not,” Luke tells him. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Your heart’s good too.”

Ashton shakes his head and leans in, and kisses Luke. In the moment, Luke is too caught up in the feeling to think about why Ashton might not have had an answer for that, but now, thinking of it, he wonders if Ashton had known better.

* * *

Luke hasn’t left his room to see if Ashton has left, but it’s been an hour, so he must have.

Unfortunately, when Luke finally does escape his own confines, he sees Ashton, wearing down the carpet with his pacing in the living room.

“What are you still doing here?” Luke asks, as his heart gives a small, angry jerk.

Ashton looks up. “Um. I, um. I was trying to think of how to say that I can’t leave.” Luke’s face must pinch furiously, because Ashton says, “But I knew you’d make that face, so I was sort of putting it off.”

“What does that even mean? Why can’t you leave?” Luke pauses. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, well, no,” Ashton exhales. “I don’t know. My mum…I’m on a need-to-know basis. So all I need to know, apparently, is that a work emergency has come up and she can’t come get me.”

“How does that mean you can’t leave?”

“She thinks — she thinks we’re, um.” Ashton scrubs a hand over his face. “She thinks you’re the kind of person who will let me stay overnight, so she asked if I could just do that. And I said I couldn’t,” to Luke’s sour expression, “but she just, well, you know what she’s like.”

Luke does know what she’s like. Knows that trying to talk to Ashton’s mum is like talking to a wall. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it. “So stay at Calum’s or something,” Luke says, feeling shitty and awful for saying it.

Ashton’s face falls. “I — if…”

“No, never mind,” Luke says, because Ashton might have royally fucked up, but Luke’s not an asshole. “Fine. Okay. You can stay. It’s fine. Do you mind — the couch?”

“No, no, of course not, you won’t even know I’m here,” Ashton says quickly. “I’m — I know…I’m really sorry about this, Luke.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Luke says. “It’s not your fault.” _For once._

Ashton chews on his lip. “Well, um, okay. Thanks.”

“I’ll tell my mum,” Luke says, for something to say, and then goes to do just that, which takes all of one minute, before returning to his room and his terrible lyrics, and the _go ahead, rip my heart out_ line looming over his head, like a death sentence.

It occurs to him, cruelly, that the shirt — _the_ shirt — is still in Luke’s dresser. And, well, Luke’s feeling self-destructive and particularly masochistic today. Maybe it’s because Ashton’s still here when he was meant to have gone. Or maybe because he thinks about the shirt roughly ten times a day, and now is the perfect opportunity to pass that demon along. 

It probably won’t work. Ashton probably doesn’t think about the shirt ever. So maybe it’s time he starts.

Luke digs it out, soft and stretched out and _thankfully_ smelling of detergent and the must of Luke’s drawers. It used to smell like Ashton, but Luke washed it twice once he could bear to hold it. Now it taunts him, ghosts filling his line of sight, but he just blinks at it and pulls out a pair of joggers.

Ashton is sitting on the couch now, although he looks stiff and uncertain. When he sees Luke, holding the shirt, his entire body flinches.

“Um,” he says.

“Shouldn’t sleep in your day clothes,” Luke says by way of explanation, and throws the shirt and sweats to Ashton. They hit his chest and fall into his arms, but it looks like an instinctive response. Ashton’s still standing there, staring at him.

“Keep the shirt,” Luke adds. He tries to keep his voice firm.

“I don’t —”

“I said keep it.” 

This time when Luke returns to his room he shuts the door before falling into bed. Maybe it makes him a hypocrite, but he can’t be arsed to change out of his day clothes. He’s slept in jeans before. And if it’s uncomfortable, it can’t be worse than the knowledge that Ashton is just outside his door, filling the living room instead of hogging Luke’s sheets. 

* * *

“So just to recap,” Luke says, growing more irritated by the minute, “I want to have sex with you, and you want to have sex with me, but you don’t want me to want to have sex with you?”

“If you say it like that it doesn’t make sense,” Ashton says. “I don’t want to be your first time, Luke.”

“But you just said you do!”

“Just because I said I want to sleep with you doesn’t mean I want to be the first person you sleep with! You should have a better experience than just —”

“Just _what_?”

Ashton shakes his head. “Just me.”

“You’re not ‘just you’ to me,” Luke says stubbornly, although he’s not really sure what they are, or what Ashton should be to him. They won’t talk about it, mostly by mutual avoidance, and as a result they’re kind of just friends who both like each other, and who kiss. Luke isn’t sure what the line is between that and a boyfriend, but he doesn’t want to ask. He’s worried he’ll be rebuffed the way Ashton is doing right now, and he’s not sure he can take that.

“I’m not,” Ashton tries, and then opens and closes his mouth a few times like he’s grasping at the right word before settling on, “worthy.”

“You’re not _worthy?_ ” Luke echoes, incredulous and a little angry. “That’s the dumbest fucking excuse I’ve ever heard, Ashton. I’m not _Jesus._ I’m just a person. And I really like you, and you say you really like me, and you _say_ you want to fuck me, and now that I’m asking you to do it, you’re backing out.” Ashton opens his mouth. “And if you give me that line about not wanting to hurt me, I’ll kick you. I will kick you, I swear.”

Ashton closes his mouth and his lips fall into a thin line. Luke huffs. Ashton’s so obsessed with not hurting Luke, and it’s driving Luke to the brink of insanity.

“I’m not gonna go and fuck someone else,” Luke adds. “I don’t _want_ to. I want _you_.”

“I know,” Ashton says quietly. “I want you too, I just…”

“Think of it like this,” Luke says encouragingly. “I won’t know if you do it wrong.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better!”

“I have an idea for what would make you feel better.” 

“Luke.”

“I’m just going to kiss you,” Luke says innocently, settling a hand on Ashton’s shoulder and pulling him in.

Ashton kisses him, warm and a little hungry like he always does, before pulling away. “I like you so much,” he breathes when they break.

Luke’s heart does a series of gymnastics flips. “I like you too.”

“Okay,” Ashton says. “Do you really want to — you mean it that you want to, like, do it with me?”

“I mean it.”

“Okay.” Ashton drags Luke back in for another kiss, and this time Luke can feel the heat behind it, a raw desire in the way he slides his tongue over Luke’s bottom lip, and it sets all of Luke’s nerves aflame. There’s fire prickling under his fingertips.

When Ashton pulls back, it’s only for a second, to say, “Like, now?”

“Stop stalling,” Luke says, and presses forward to reconnect their lips.

* * *

A knock on Luke’s door jolts him to consciousness. He flips over, half-hoping it’ll be Ashton and half-hoping it won’t, and mumbles, “What?”

“It’s Jack.”

Oh. “Yeah, what,” Luke responds, which Jack takes incorrectly as an invitation to open the door and let himself in. Luke slumps back against his pillow. “What d’you want.”

“Ashton’s in the living room,” Jack says.

“Yeah,” Luke says.

“Why?”

“His mum said it was an emergency. Said he had to stay over. Wasn’t gonna say no, was I?”

“Yeah, you’re too much of a pushover for that.”

Luke flips him off. “Do you want something or did you just come here to be an arse?”

“Why can’t I do both?” Jack grins. Luke glares. “Okay, fine. No. I came to ask you why Ashton’s in our living room. And now I know.”

“Is he asleep?”

Jack raises a knowing eyebrow, which Luke doesn’t appreciate at all. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. The lights are off, but he’s breathing like he’s awake.”

“Did you stop to listen to him breathing?”

“I walked through the room,” Jack points out irritably. Then, a little nicer, “I know you don’t, like, want to talk about it or whatever, but just in case you do, you know I’ve got your back, right?” When Luke doesn’t answer, Jack continues, “Ben does too, though he probably won’t admit it. Say the word and I’ll beat Ashton up. I mean it.”

“You couldn’t,” Luke says, although a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “He’s much stronger than you both.”

“Not combined, he’s not,” Jack says. “Two against one, he doesn’t stand a chance. We’ll hold his arms while you kick him in the dick.”

Luke snorts against his better judgement. “That’s horrible. I don’t want that.”

“I’m just saying _if_ you do.”

“Okay. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Luke, seriously,” Jack says. Luke looks at him, his face and his eyes and his hands shoved in his pockets. “I mean it.”

“I know,” Luke says. “I know you do. I don’t want you to beat him up. I just — I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, if you ever decide, let me know.”

“I want you to leave so I can sleep,” Luke grouses. Jack laughs.

“Goodnight, kiddo.”

“You know, I’m sixteen.”

“Practically a baby.”

Luke makes an immature face. It doesn’t help his case, but it does make Jack smirk as he leaves, closing the door, like he was never there.

* * *

Ashton picks them all up in the middle of the school day, despite Luke’s protests. He doesn’t want to cut class, but Michael is beyond insistent, and Calum is basically trailing behind Michael, and Luke is outnumbered three-to-one, plus Ashton is already here. As a show of silent rebellion, Luke largely ignores Ashton when they all climb into his awful car and make for the music store downtown. He browses the vinyls until the clock hits half three, and then Ashton drives them all home, trying to make playful conversation with Luke and failing. Luke stubbornly does not look at him, and insists on sitting in the backseat with Calum while Michael takes the front. Normally Luke takes the front, but Michael isn’t one to complain about not having to sit in the back, so the only sign that this is a deviation from the norm is the look of hurt on Ashton’s face.

When they’ve dropped off Calum and Michael and Calum’s house, Ashton says, “You wanna get in the front?”

Luke doesn’t, but it feels stupid to sit in the back when he’s the only one left, so he begrudgingly moves up. Ashton pulls away from the Hood house and starts down the road in the direction of Luke’s house.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re ignoring me?”

“Yes,” Luke says. “You shouldn’t have come to pick us up.”

Ashton scoffs. “Really? That’s it? Shit, Luke, you didn’t have to come.”

“ _You_ try telling Michael no, then. You shouldn’t have even offered. They just use you as a free pass to skip lessons and it’s a bad habit.”

“You don’t have to cut classes if you don’t want to,” Ashton repeats, eyes still on the road. “Michael asked if I could come get you guys.”

“Well, Michael’s got bad habits,” Luke snaps. “You don’t have to enable him. He has to pass his classes, too, you know. Some of us are hoping to graduate.”

“Don’t speak on Michael’s behalf. He can make his own decisions.”

“You can’t just —”

“It’s not a big deal, Luke! It’s really, _really_ not a big deal.”

“Just because _you_ don’t think —”

“Michael and Calum _both_ texted me, and you didn’t have to —”

“Sure, and just let them go without me, because that feels great —”

“You’re just as capable of making decisions as they are!”

“Let me fucking talk!” Luke explodes, and then there’s a stillness in the car for a moment as Ashton rolls up to Luke’s house and pulls the parking brake. Luke feels sick. He never shouts, never, ever; he barely has the temper for it. Ashton’s jaw is set, and he’s looking straight ahead, but Luke’s stomach is churning and he thinks, _this is it, I’ve fucked it up, I should have never yelled._ He can’t even remember what he’d wanted to say now. 

Finally, Ashton turns to him. “I’m letting you talk,” he says tightly. “Or was that all you had to say?”

Luke stares. “Stop telling me it’s not a big deal,” he says in a small voice. “It matters to me, okay? You can’t just pull us out of class because you’re bored. Or because _Michael_ is bored. We have studies. We’re still students.”

Ashton laughs incredulously. “Luke, I’m sorry, but holy shit, you’re being crazy. It’s _one day._ You’re not going to fall behind from missing one day.”

“I don’t care about today,” Luke fumes. He doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, like he’s some _child_. “Don’t _keep doing it_. I’m not being crazy, I’m being fucking responsible.”

“Fucking — okay! I promise I’ll never offer to fucking pick you up from school again. I’m not trying to, like, make you some — renegade, some truant, alright? I take it back. I’ll go bring you back right now. You can apologize to your fucking teachers.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, _I_ shouldn’t be ridiculous?”

“You’re making fun of me and I’m trying to —” Luke cuts himself off, feeling frustrated and angry and annoyed and mostly hating that he’s feeling these things about Ashton. He really likes Ashton, a lot. It sucks to be mad at him, and Luke is, and he wants to not be. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Bye.” 

The car clicks and Luke whips his head around to see Ashton has locked it. “You can unlock it if you want,” Ashton says quickly, a little fearfully, like he thinks Luke is going to accuse him of a hostage situation. Which he might. “I just — this isn’t. I don’t want to leave this like this. I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s finish talking about it. I was making fun. I’m sorry.”

Luke blinks, a lot, and Ashton looks imploring. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Um…sorry for yelling. I shouldn’t have. And…I don’t know. I don’t like being the kid who cuts class. It’s not me. But I don’t want you guys doing stuff without me.”

“I’ll start saying no to Michael sometimes,” Ashton pledges, and then gives Luke a dry look. “ _Sometimes._ But, Luke, you know it’s just school, right? There’s a whole world out there who doesn’t give a fuck about whether or not you did well in school.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve already finished it,” Luke mutters. “Anyway, my mum’s a teacher. So, that’s not actually true.”

Ashton shakes his head, smiling a little bit; Luke thinks maybe they’re fixing it, and he’s never in his life resolved a fight like this before. With Jack and Ben they just ignore each other the rest of the day, and the following day pretend like nothing happened. Apart from them, Luke doesn’t have a ton of experience with fights. He’s always too soft-spoken to properly quarrel, and mostly he’s just the pushover. Something about Ashton, though. It makes him so much louder.

Luke doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. He feels emboldened when he’s with Ashton, like there’s more of himself there, like the things he says are worth saying, but sometimes that means the bad things too. And Luke can’t tell where the line is between things he should say and things he shouldn’t.

“How about this,” Ashton says. “I’ll text you when Michael texts me, and we can decide together if it’s a good day for me to come steal you all away. I’ll start saying no if you start saying yes. Deal?”

Luke purses his lips. “Deal,” he allows. 

Ashton sighs in relief. “Okay. Good. You can get out now, if you want.”

“I thought we were supposed to, like, kiss and make out.”

“Kiss and make _up_.”

“I don’t think it is,” Luke says, grinning, and Ashton grins back.

“Come on, then,” Ashton concedes, leaning across to kiss Luke, and Luke goes willingly, thinking that eventually, the fact that he and Ashton can’t stop disagreeing is going to come to a head, and Luke doesn’t want to be there when it does.

* * *

Luke is almost afraid to get out of bed and see if Ashton’s gone in the morning, so he stays in his room, pretending he’s not avoiding the living room, until Jack peeks his head in.

“You can stop hiding,” he says.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Okay.” Jack looks very much like he doesn’t believe that. “Well, you can stop conveniently staying in your room, or whatever. Ashton left half an hour ago.”

Luke scowls, mostly because now he can’t leave without Jack calling him out for hiding. “Okay,” he says.

“Stop pretending like you don’t care,” Jack says.

“Get out of my room,” Luke mumbles, and Jack smirks and retreats.

Calum texts him about band practice the following day, and Luke replies saying that sounds fine, and then Calum asks if he wants to hang out today, and Luke asks if it’s a band thing or a them thing, and Calum says he won’t invite Ashton if Luke doesn’t want, which means it’s a band thing, and then Luke has to stop answering for a moment and think.

This is _exactly_ how bands get destroyed. And Luke should have thought of it before, really. Ashton fucked up, but Luke started it, opened the line of questioning that led to the mutual confession, kissed Ashton first. Ashton may have slammed the door, but it’s Luke’s fault that it’s open in the first place, and now everything is messed up because of it.

He can’t hold a grudge against Ashton without ruining the band, but he can’t forgive Ashton just yet — every time he thinks about Ashton, _still_ , his heart twists in on itself like it’s wringing itself out, but instead of water it’s just blood and anguish, dripping into Luke’s ribcage. He thinks again about _go ahead, rip my heart out_ , and wishes Ashton _had_ ripped his heart out so he couldn’t feel the way it’s suffocating right now, all the time.

 _Not today,_ he finally texts Calum, because he has to work through this shit himself, but he doesn’t have to make his bandmates deal with it. _Might do some songwriting or whatevs._

Calum asks him once again if he’s okay, and Luke finds it easier to lie over text, just a quick _yup have fun with michael ;)_ that earns a selfie from Calum, flipping him off. It makes Luke smile a little, and reminds him why he loves Calum. 

Now that Luke’s said he’ll songwrite he thinks he might as well. That song from yesterday is weighing on him. Yesterday it had felt ugly and tragic, but today, Luke wonders if maybe it’s salvageable. If maybe there’s a way to cut it up and piece it back together and rewrite it in places to make it — a battle cry, if nothing else. 

Freeing the paper from several others on his desk, Luke settles against his bed, on the floor where he’d sat yesterday with Calum, and looks at the lyrics once more, scratching out the awful ones, circling the best ones. He hates _go ahead, rip my heart out, if you think that’s what love’s all about_ , but the more he stares at it, trying to move his pen and scribble over it, the more he clings to it.

It’s too personal. It’s far too personal to say in a song, and it’s not even _true_ because what he had — what _they_ had wasn’t love, of course it wasn’t, Luke’s only sixteen and he’s far too young for love, but he can’t bring himself to cut the line.

For a battle cry, that’s one hell of a punchline, is the thing.

Most of Calum’s contributions get erased. Some of them get moved around. After two hours, Luke has a tentative first verse and a pre-chorus that might double as the bridge, and his heart hurts from thinking about Ashton.

He’s still not sure about a title, or even most of the chorus, but his stomach is grumbling, and he figures the song can wait.

“Not hiding, huh?” Jack says when Luke makes his appearance in the kitchen for lunch. Luke makes a face at him. “You sure proved me wrong.”

“I wasn’t hiding, and fuck you.”

“Hey, language.”

Luke rolls his eyes.

“What are you working on in there?” Jack prods.

“None of your business.”

“No need to be so touchy.”

“Stop being nosy, then.”

“I’m just being an invested older brother. It’s called _love._ ”

“You’re being nosy.”

“When will you learn,” Jack sighs dramatically, “that it’s the same thing?”

If Luke could roll his eyes right out of his head, he would.

“I’ll stop asking if you’ll stop being an asshole to me for something I had no hand in,” Jack barters. Luke turns to look at him, and there’s a little bit of hurt masked by a showy glower.

“Fine,” Luke says. “Sorry for being an asshole.” He heaves a sigh and leans against the counter. “Writing music is hard.”

“Oh,” Jack says. “Yeah, I can’t help you with that.”

“I wasn’t asking for your help, I’m just complaining.”

“Specificity,” Jack says wisely. “Try specificity. I always like that, in music. Like, not generic I-miss-you you-hurt-me lyrics. Say real shit. That’s how you get ‘em.”

Luke mulls this over. “How would you know?”

“Because I’m a fucking person who listens to music, what kind of question is that? I’m giving you advice. Like the excellent older brother I am.”

It’s not bad advice, except it requires Luke to _think_ of specific things to write about. “Specificity feels awfully personal, though,” he says. “Like, people will know who it’s about.”

“Well, don’t say their fucking name,” Jack says, with a head shake, like, _this kid._ “I’m just saying, if you want people to feel things, you have to be specific. Nobody cares that he hurt you, you know what I mean? They want to know _what_ hurt. What he said that hurt you. Why it hurt you so much.”

“It’s not a diary,” Luke says, scowling.

“It kind of is,” Jack points out, and unfortunately makes a pretty strong case. Songwriting really is kind of like a diary entry, but with all the names changed. Luke hates when Jack is right. It reminds him that Jack is actually an intelligent human being, not just Luke’s annoying older brother.

As Jack moves to sit in the dining room with his sandwich and crisps, Luke mumbles, “I don’t want him to know it’s about him.”

Jack stops, turns on his heel, and looks Luke in the eye, sympathy crowding over his features. It’s a weird look on him. “Mate, he’ll know it’s about him no matter what you say. May as well gut him with it.”

With that startling insight, he exits, leaving Luke in the kitchen to let that sink in.

* * *

Ashton is first to Luke’s house for band practice, and Luke is messing around on guitar when he arrives. “Hey, wanna hear what I’ve been learning?”

“Of course not,” Ashton says.

“You get to band practice early, you have to listen to me play blink,” Luke says. “That’s the deal.”

“I was joking,” Ashton says. “Of course I want to hear it. Go. Play.”

So Luke starts plucking out “Stay Together For The Kids,” because he’s always wanted to learn it, and it’s one of his favorite blink-182 songs. He’s a little clumsy on it, still, and he doesn’t take his eyes off the guitar the whole time he’s playing. Only when he sings the last _it’s not right_ does he look up, and Ashton looks like he’s been sucker punched.

Nervously, Luke says, “Uh, any good?”

Ashton clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting…”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Ashton says firmly. His jaw is tense, eyes glassy; Luke recognizes the sign of someone trying not to cry. “Sounds good, Luke. I’m going to — bathroom.”

Luke counts to ten while Ashton all but races out of the room, and then gently sets his guitar aside and follows after.

The bathroom door is shut, so Luke knocks. “Ash. I wouldn’t have played it — I didn’t think about it.”

“Luke, it’s honestly,” Ashton’s voice comes, unsteady from the other side, and then a shaking, gasping breath. “Give me a second. It’s not — it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Luke pouts. “At least let me cuddle you. I don’t want you to be sad. Let me help.”

“Not sad,” Ashton argues through the door.

Luke leans his head against the doorframe. He feels out of his depth; he doesn’t know what to do when Ashton is crying, and Calum and Michael aren’t here yet, not that they’d be any more help. Luke should be able to handle this. This is Ashton. If not his boyfriend, then close enough.

“Please open the door, Ashton,” Luke says quietly. “I won’t laugh if you’re crying. I cry at everything all the time. You’ve seen me cry like a million times, so it’s only fair.”

After a long moment, the doorknob twists and Luke sees Ashton, still swiping at his eyes as the door swings open. Luke enters carefully, holding out his arms, kind of, and Ashton sinks into his hold. He doesn’t seem to be crying anymore but his face still betrays the tears from moments prior, at least until he buries it in Luke’s neck.

“You caught me off-guard, that’s all,” he tells Luke’s shoulder. “Sorry. I know it’s, like, royally stupid.”

“It’s _not_ stupid. That’s one of their saddest songs. I didn’t even think about what it would mean for you. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Then neither are you. It’s okay, Ashton. You can, like, feel things. You know you can feel things, right?”

Ashton shakes his head and pulls back, leaning his forehead against Luke’s. “You’re so good. You’re so fucking good, Luke.”

“Don’t start with your Luke worship right now,” Luke protests weakly, heart thumping. Ashton sniffles through a laugh.

“God. Now I’ll look like I’ve been crying.”

“You have been crying.”

“Yeah, but nobody needs to _know_ that.” 

Luke reaches up and makes a ceremonial gesture of wiping away Ashton’s tears, then kisses his cheeks, one to each, and then his forehead, and then softly on his lips. “If either of them ask, I’ll just tell them you were helping me cut onions for dinner tonight.”

Ashton giggles. “That could work, actually.”

“See? I’m a genius.” And very good at coming up with explanations for why he’s been crying, because Luke cries so easily it’s almost comedic. 

“You are,” Ashton allows. “You have some redeeming qualities, anyway. Although to be fair, you also are the reason I was crying.”

“No more Stay Together,” Luke decides.

Ashton nods. “No more Stay Together in front of me,” he amends. “Without a warning. It really did sound good, Luke. I just wasn’t — but it sounded really good. You’ve got such a good ear.”

Luke smiles, feeling warm and melty all over the way he does whenever Ashton compliments him. He files it away, though; no more Stay Together. 

He doesn’t ever play the song again, for himself or anyone else. It’s funny that the only person who’s ever heard him play it is the only person who doesn’t want to, but sometimes that’s just how things go, and Luke doesn’t need to play Stay Together. Between that and Ashton, it’s not even a question.

* * *

Ashton leaves the shirt.

Ashton leaves the shirt _and_ joggers, actually, folded up on the armrest, which would be a very polite houseguest thing to do if Luke weren’t saddled with the information that he’s still in possession of the shirt. It’s not until Luke is about to sit on the couch that he notices, and for a moment he’s blinded with rage at the stack on the sofa. _I specifically told him to keep it,_ Luke thinks furiously, _what a fucking dickhead,_ and in his irritation he picks up the shirt. It unfolds in his hands and Luke realizes, with a start, that this isn’t the shirt. Not the one from before, anyway.

It’s Ashton’s shirt from yesterday. He must have gotten his clothes mixed up and forgotten to take it. Luke stares at it, and can’t stop staring. 

He doesn’t want this. In fact, he has half a mind to throw it out onto the street, but that’s needlessly cruel. Not that Ashton doesn’t deserve needless cruelty. 

This is worse, is the thing. At least the other shirt had belonged to Luke, once upon a time. Luke is happy to part ways with that one, now that it’s all stained with the memory of Ashton wearing it, but this? Ashton’s own shirt? And the knowledge that in another life, maybe, Luke would have worn it easily, would have slipped it on, admiring the way the sleeves hung over his fingertips? He can’t just throw this one out. He’ll have to fucking return it, have to go to Ashton and look him in the eye and say _hey, you left your fucking shirt,_ which is an admission in and of itself. _You left your shirt, and if I keep it I’ll probably cry, or I’ll start wearing it, or I’ll do something else absolutely insane, so I need you to take it back._

Maybe it’s best to just burn it.

For now, though, he can pass it off to someone else.

“Mum?” Luke waits for the _yeah?_ from upstairs. “Ashton left some clothes on the sofa, can you put them in the wash?”

Luke’s mum promises to retrieve the clothes, and Luke sighs in relief and retreats to his room. Specificity, Jack had said. Okay. He can do specific. What’s specific?

Well, the shirt is specific. The shirt is — it’s a reminder of what’s broken, but fuck, so is the whole song. 

Yeah. Okay. Something about that fucking shirt, then. Luke pulls out the lyrics sheet and presses the tip of a pencil to it so hard it tears. 

It really feels over. That was the last piece of Ashton that Luke owned, and now Ashton has it. _Isn’t that what you wanted?_ Luke thinks viciously, and it is, it _is_ , but it’s also not. Luke never wanted it to end in the first place. Maybe, without meaning to, that t-shirt had been a thread of hope, and Luke had been clinging. It’s for the best that it’s gone. It’s for the best that it’s with Ashton now, that Ashton gets to live with that particular ghost, or light it on fire, or whatever. But it really feels like the slamming of a door, the ending to something — well, maybe not something good, but something big, and almost-real.

There’s nothing to mourn anymore, but Luke does anyway. And then he starts writing.

* * *

In hindsight, Luke should have known, but he’s too close to see that something is going to explode until the three-two-one is ticking in his ear, and by that time it’s far too late to escape.

“Can I ask you something?” Luke asks. He won’t know until later that this is the spark that lights the fuse, but right now they’re cuddled up on Luke’s bed, both shirtless but sharing body heat, and Luke feels too dizzy with this glow to think that he shouldn’t ask. It makes sense to ask. Luke has a right to know.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, tracing random letters onto Luke’s chest, skimming over his skin with incredible gentleness. _F. B. S. A. M._ “Wait. Let me come up with my answer, and then yes.”

Luke waits in patient amusement while Ashton thinks. “Okay. Ready.”

“Alright, tell me your answer and I’ll tell you my question.”

“My answer is your mum.”

Luke laughs. “I really hope not.”

“What’s the question?”

Still kind of giggling, Luke says, “Um, what is this? Us?”

Ashton’s hand stills. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. I’m just wondering if this is, like…” Luke clears his throat. “If we’re something. Me and you.”

Ashton’s fingertips drum against Luke’s chest. “I…I don’t know.”

And Luke should see it, should smell the smoke and realize that this is the beginning of the end, but he doesn’t. 

“You don’t know,” he repeats. “Okay, well…do you want us to be something?” _Because I do._

Ashton rolls away from Luke and shifts himself into a sitting position. “We’re not…I thought we kind of were something.”

“Well, you’re not my boyfriend,” Luke says. He aims for teasing but it falls flat in the tension of the room, and instead Ashton looks away, obviously troubled.

“Yeah. No, I know.”

Luke furrows his brow. “Do you want to be?”

“No,” Ashton says, and Luke’s heart sinks down to his feet. “I can’t be, I mean. It’s — this isn’t a boyfriend thing. It’s just, like…”

“It’s just?” Luke echoes dimly, distantly aware of the roar of blood in his ears. This feels like a nightmare. Maybe it is a nightmare. “I thought you liked me. I thought that’s what we agreed.”

“Well,” Ashton says desperately, “I don’t know. I don’t know. I mean, there’s a lot of —”

“What do you mean, you don’t _know_.”

“Just that I don’t know.” Ashton stares at Luke, and Luke’s heart cracks down the middle. He forces it together, cements it shut, covers it in a steel casing. Stares Ashton down.

“You said you like me,” he accuses. “You can’t tell me you didn’t mean that.”

“I’m not.”

“And now it’s not true anymore? Is that it?”

“I just don’t know,” Ashton bites out. “If this is, like. Don’t you want to see what else there is? Who else is out there? I’m your first, Luke, there’s no way I’m the best option.”

“It’s not a fucking game show,” Luke says furiously, also sitting up. “I’m not trying to pick a winner. Remember saying you don’t want to hurt me? What happened to that?”

“I _don’t_ want to hurt you,” Ashton says. He looks frantic. “That’s why — I can’t — I’m sorry, Luke, I’ve taken a lot of your firsts, but I can’t be your first boyfriend. It’s not fair to you.”

“Fuck you,” Luke fires. “You don’t decide if it’s fair to me. If you don’t want to be with me, just fucking say that. Don’t make all these bullshit excuses.”

“This is what I mean!” Ashton gestures between them. “Luke, we can’t stop arguing. That’s not a good basis for a relationship.”

“Because you either lied before or you’re lying now, and either way it’s a shitty thing to do, Ashton!”

“I don’t want to be with you,” Ashton says, point-blank, and everything crashes down around Luke, debris slamming against the floor, and Luke wonders how Ashton can sit still while the sky falls.

“You’re lying,” Luke breathes. “You’re just scared.”

Ashton obviously _is_ scared, and it’s painted all over his face, but he squares his shoulders and gets out of bed. “I mean it,” he says. “I can’t do that to you, Luke. I’m sorry.”

Luke finally gets it — Ashton’s whole thing about not wanting to hurt Luke. It had all been a setup, designed to make it hurt that much more when Ashton inevitably _did_ tear everything down like this, because Luke’s supposed to believe that Ashton hadn’t meant to. That Ashton warned him, and therefore it’s Luke’s fault.

But it is Luke’s fault. Ashton _had_ warned him. And Luke had been the one to ask. They could have carried on, acting like boyfriends but without the name. Luke and his stupid fucking mouth.

That anger turns outward quickly as Ashton pulls his shirt over his head. “I should go,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, you should,” Luke says vehemently. “You’re such an asshole, you know that? You spout this shit about how I’m too pure to, like, _ruin_ with your, your — _whatever_ , but you don’t care. If you really cared about not hurting me you’d stop lying to yourself, but you’re _scared._ ”

Ashton shakes his head, like he can’t even be bothered to argue, and Luke clenches his fists in his bedsheets, feeling vulnerable in his half-dressed state as Ashton gets himself together to leave.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he says listlessly, standing in the doorway. 

Everything is confusing; the world is crashing and burning and everything’s on fire and Luke stares at Ashton and says, “Say you want to stay. Say you like me. Tell the truth.”

Ashton just ducks his head. “I’m really sorry, Luke.”

He goes, and Luke watches as he disappears from the doorway. He waits until he hears his front door close and then starts to cry.

* * *

Luke plays the song over and over before the rest of the band gets there. It sounds too tragic on acoustic guitar only, but Luke can hear drums in his head, a guitar riff, bits and pieces in the background that hopefully he can persuade the rest of the band to hear too. And if Ashton reacts to the lyrics, well, good. 

That’s what Luke tells himself, anyway.

Calum’s first over this time, and Luke is pretty certain that Ashton is counting the minutes so he doesn’t arrive until the moment practice is supposed to start, which gives Luke a rather spiteful vindication.

“Hey,” says Calum, coming through the door.

“Hey,” Luke says. “How was it yesterday?”

“Fun, we got ice cream and kind of just walked around,” Calum says. Before Luke can ask, Calum adds, “Invited Ashton but he said he was busy with stuff.” Luke could’ve come, Calum means to say. 

Giving Calum a halfway smile, Luke says, “Well, I’m glad I wasn’t there to third-wheel.”

“We could’ve done a three-person thing,” Calum teases, as Michael comes in. Luke is relatively sure he and Calum carpool, so he doesn’t know why Michael’s taken so long to come in, but Michael probably got caught up in doing Michael things and Luke doesn’t particularly care. There’s a dull pulse under his fingertips, nerves building up for his performance to them later. 

“I finished the song, by the way,” he tells Calum. “Well, as best I could, anyway, and, um, I can play it for everyone today?”

Calum makes a face like _are you sure_ but Luke firmly ignores it.

“Oh, the song from before?” Michael asks, largely oblivious. “Great, I can finally hear all your secrets.”

“No secrets,” Luke says. “It’s just a diss track about you, Mike.”

“I _knew_ it!”

“As if anyone would care enough to write an entire diss track about you,” Calum snorts, and they bicker their way to the living room, Luke trailing after. 

Ashton shows up just as they’re setting up to start, so precisely on time that Luke wonders if he’d stood out on the lawn waiting for half twelve. He comes in without much ceremony and doesn’t look at Luke, which is for the best. Suddenly Luke’s heartbeat feels much louder, and there’s a pounding in his head. Maybe he shouldn’t play the song for them. Maybe he should just burn it, scrap the whole thing.

“Alright, let’s have it, Luke,” Michael says, entirely destroying that plan. To Ashton, “Luke’s finished his song from before and now we get the privilege of hearing it.”

“A band song?” Ashton asks, lightly.

Luke and Calum exchange a look. “I think so,” Luke says carefully. “If you guys like it.”

“Alright,” Ashton says, gesturing. “Let’s hear it.”

Luke takes a deep, grounding breath, trying to keep his fingers from shaking against the fretboard. “Well, okay. Tentative title, If You Don’t Know. Um. Okay.” He presses his fingers into a C chord and starts to play, staring at his knees the entire time, stumbling over the second verse as he runs out of breath, and categorically refuses to look up until he gets to the final strum, and then for a minute after.

Calum breaks the silence. “Fuck, Luke. That’s way better than what we had on Friday.”

Luke swallows and cautiously looks up. “Yeah, well, I worked on it on my own.”

“Really good,” Michael puts in, and Luke flits his eyes over there. “I really like it. I mean, we’d have to write the other parts and stuff, but the lyrics are really good. It sounds kind of awesome.”

Luke flickers his gaze to Ashton, sees that Michael and Calum are watching him too, and instantly knows that Ashton had understood. _May as well gut him with it,_ Luke thinks, and wishes he felt good with the knowledge that Ashton looks gutted.

“A band song?” Ashton asks quietly. “Really?”

Luke stares him down. “Yes,” he says firmly. “To record, and perform.”

Ashton clearly doesn’t want to, but he’s outnumbered three-to-one. “Okay,” he says. “It’s a good song. I like it.”

 _Liar,_ Luke thinks savagely, _liar, liar, liar,_ but Ashton looks honest enough, mostly because he seems to hate himself for the opinion, thumb pressing into his palm like he can concentrate the pain. 

Michael looks back and forth. “Did I miss something?” he wonders.

“No,” Calum says quickly. “Let’s get on with practice. We can work out parts for that one later, let’s do Try Hard or something.”

Michael shrugs. “I like Try Hard.”

Luke likes Try Hard, but he can’t help feeling Ashton’s eyes boring into the side of his face for almost the entire rest of rehearsal, and it’s making him crazy, throwing him off. He’s mad at Ashton, absolutely furious; he _should_ be, has every right to be.

It just doesn’t feel like anger. It feels like desperation, and Luke hates that.

When practice ends, Calum and Michael leave first, Calum with a hand on Luke’s shoulder, a sideways hug, and a whispered, “The song is really badass, you know,” which Luke appreciates. Unfortunately, this leaves Luke alone with Ashton.

Until Jack ambles into the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “How was practice, lads?” he asks, before Ashton gets a chance to even open his mouth, though Luke can tell he has something to say. He almost wants to know what it is.

Luke looks over at him. “Productive, apart from Michael forgetting, like, half the lyrics.” 

Ashton shifts uncomfortably, then says, “Um, Luke, can I ask you —”

“No,” Jack interrupts. Luke shoots him a glare. “What? You can’t.”

“Jack, fucking hell, back off.”

Jack narrows his eyes at Luke. “I’m being protective.”

“He’s not going to do anything!” Jack is being embarrassing. Luke doesn’t fucking need protecting. And he certainly doesn’t need Ashton thinking he went crying to his older brothers for help. Ashton looks torn between amusement and humiliation.

“I just want to talk about the song,” he says nervously. “Band stuff,” he tells Jack.

Jack presses his lips together. 

“Jack,” Luke says irritably, “ _leave._ It’s fine.”

Jack huffs and flounces away, although Luke suspects he’ll be eavesdropping. Ashton looks at Luke, and Luke looks back. He won’t be stared down. 

“So,” Ashton starts, hands dipping into his pockets, then curling around his middle instead. “Um, the song was very — uh, honest. I — I really did like it.”

“I don’t care if you liked it,” Luke lies, because he does care, loath though he is to admit it. He still feels that curl of happiness when Ashton says something nice. 

“No, I know,” Ashton says. He sits on the couch, leaving Luke to decide whether he should sit — which feels like a surrender — or stay standing and make it really awkward. Eventually, he sits.

“That’s it? You just liked it? Nothing else?”

Ashton wrings his hands. “Okay, no, but I — I feel sufficiently threatened by Jack, to be honest. I just — God. I didn’t think…” He shakes his head.

“Spit it out,” Luke says frustratedly.

“Okay, then.” Ashton inhales. “I’m sorry. First of all, I’m sorry. I fucked up so bad. Like, I didn’t really even realize how bad. I lied to you. I said I didn’t want to be with you and that was a lie. I _was_ scared, and that’s no excuse for what I said, and what I did. I led you on. I’m sorry. I really am.”

Furious pounding in Luke’s ears. He wants to speak but has no idea what to say. 

“You said _if you don’t know,_ and I just want you to know that I do know,” Ashton continues hesitantly. “But I’m sure you don’t want to hear it. I mean, you said…let you go, but it’s — you’re right. It’s not fair of me, I know that, it’s selfish to tell you I like you when you just said —”

“You said you liked me before,” Luke says, unable to stop himself. His voice sounds small and brittle. “You can say it again, but I won’t believe you.”

“Okay,” Ashton says desperately. “That’s fine. Don’t. But, like, I said the wrong things before. I said so many things wrong. And I just want to set the record straight. So you don’t go around feeling like — like I didn’t like you, like any of it was your fault. It wasn’t. I _did_ want to stay. And I wish I could go back and un-say all of that shit, and just say I wanted to be with you, because I _did,_ I do, and it’s all me, nothing to do with you, okay?” He takes an unsteady breath. “I got scared. Like you said. I’ve never had any model for a good relationship and I knew I’d fuck it up and I just really didn’t want to fuck it up with you because you really, honestly deserve someone who will know how to be good at love, and I’m not, but I get it, that I fucked up. I could have tried, and instead I backed out. Got scared. Hurt you by trying not to hurt you.”

It’s probably for the best that Luke can’t think of anything to say, because he’s pretty sure he’s lost the ability to speak. There’s a buzzing sound coming from Ashton’s pocket, and he pulls out his phone and curses.

“My mum,” he mutters. Lifting his eyes to Luke’s, he says, “I’ll leave. I’m just really sorry. Really, really sorry.”

The worst thing is, Luke believes every word.

“You mean that,” he says quietly. Ashton nods.

“Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart,” he says. “But I’m not saying it so you’ll forgive me, okay? I guess I just — it hurt, you know, your song. I didn’t realize how bad I fucked up until you sang it. So I’m letting you go. Just wanted you to know why I said what I said. And that I’m really fucking sorry about it. Um. Yeah.”

“Okay,” Luke says. “I forgive you.”

“Don’t,” Ashton says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Luke says. “I want to forgive you. I believe you.”

“Luke, I fucked up so much.”

“Yeah, you did,” Luke says. Ashton exhales. “But I still believe you. And I still think you’re good, Ashton.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Ashton says grimly. “Every time I try to do the right thing I fuck up somehow.”

“Not every time. Just sometimes. Everyone fucks up sometimes. You’re learning same as everyone.”

“People’s hearts aren’t learning tools.”

“No,” Luke agrees, “so don’t do it again.”

Ashton stares at him. “I don’t want this. I’ve just guilted you into saying you forgive me. Luke, I’m an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole,” Luke says. “Stop fishing for compliments. It’s okay to be scared. You’ve said you’re sorry. Did you mean that?”

“Yes, yes, of course I meant it.”

“And you said you wanted to stay,” Luke continues, with a racing heart, “and that you liked me, and that you _like_ me. Did you mean that?”

“Yes,” Ashton breathes. He shakes his head, and his phone buzzes again. Glancing at the screen, he says, “Fuck. Mum’s gonna kill me.”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Go.”

“We’re in the middle of something here.”

“We’re not in the middle,” Luke tells him. “You said you’re sorry, and I forgave you, and now we’re at the beginning again.”

“Beginning of what?”

Luke chews on his lower lip, ignoring all of the voices (most sounding suspiciously like Jack) shouting at him that this is a hoax like before, that Ashton’s going to get scared again, that Ashton doesn’t mean what he’s saying, that he could never love someone like Luke.

“Think about it and get back to me,” Luke says. “Some of it is my fault. We just moved too fast. I wanted something you didn’t.”

“No, no,” Ashton says. “We wanted the same things. I was just scared. I’m not scared anymore. I swear to you I’m not. But I don’t want to be — I mean, I don’t think —” He groans and rubs a hand over his face. “No matter how I say this, it’ll come out wrong.”

“Say it. It’s fine.”

Ashton sighs. “I like you. I want to be boyfriends, like you said. But I don’t think I should, because I’m afraid to fuck up. Not to mention I think you deserve so, so much more.”

Luke swallows. Ashton’s hair is messed up from running his hands through it, cheeks pink still, and the light glinting off the hazel of his eyes is giving them unparalleled depth. He’s so fucking beautiful, and Luke is so absolutely, entirely gone for him. “You can be my boyfriend,” he says. “If you want that. And, like, we can go slow. I think that would be better. But, like, I could fuck up too, you know? We’re both new at it. We’ll both be learning.”

Ashton tips his head back. Luke studies the skin where his neck meets his shoulder, trying not to think about all the marks he’d left there once.

“You’re being serious,” Ashton finally says.

“I’m being serious.” Luke clears his throat, nervous. “So are you, right?”

“Yes, yes, I am. So serious.”

“Oh, also,” Luke remembers. “Enough with the hero worship, okay? I’m just Luke. Don’t get obsessed with not hurting me. That didn’t end well before.”

Ashton breathes out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. True. Okay. No hero worship. No arguing if we can help it.”

“And you can kiss me now.”

This time, the laugh is steadier. “Okay,” Ashton says, “but I’m blaming you when my mum does me in for being late to leave.”

“Okay,” Luke says good-naturedly, and even though they’ve kissed half a million times, this one feels different, more like a promise than anything else, Ashton’s mouth slick against his own; like a beginning, a real one, this time, a give-and-take, something worth protecting.

With a small huff, Ashton pulls away. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Luke says, smiling like an idiot. “Bye.”

Ashton gives him a cheeky wave before finally slipping out the front door. When he’s gone, Luke leans back against the cushions, dazed and happy and nervous.

“That sounded like it went well,” Jack’s voice floats in.

Luke launches a throw pillow in the general direction of the voice, without turning. “Fuck off, eavesdropper.”

“Can I give him the shovel talk? I didn’t really get to last time since he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“You can fuck off,” Luke informs him, still not turning so that Jack can’t see his ridiculous grin.

“Hey, language!” Jack leaps over the back of the couch and settles himself against the projectile pillow, giving Luke a knowing look. “I’m just trying to look out for you. He said it himself, you know, he really did fuck up.”

“And he apologized,” Luke says. “I believe in second chances. Everybody fucks up.”

Jack sighs. “Don’t know when you got so wise, kiddo, but I’m gonna have to ask you to cease and desist before you get smarter than me.”

“Too late. I’m already smarter than you.”

“Seriously, Luke.” When Luke finally meets his eyes, Jack’s got his concerned-older-brother face on. “He could really hurt you again. You have to know that.”

And it’s stupid and foolish and shows a complete inability to be cautious, but Luke says, “He won’t,” anyway, and believes it with everything he’s got.

**Author's Note:**

> okay well if you can forgive me for this fic ~~like luke forgave ashton <3~~ then i am on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) and i recommend coming to talk to me BECAUSE i am friendly and FULL OF LOVE. thank youuuuuuuu


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